


Have and Have Not

by Seselt



Series: Hybrid Vigour [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, HP: EWE, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4003534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seselt/pseuds/Seselt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This ficlet is a companion to 'Hunt Her and Pray'. It gives Draco's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Renoir Nude

Draco Apparated home. Malfoy Manor was empty and after the cosy restaurant seemed cavernous. He stalked upstairs to his suite, slamming the door in a cue to the house elves that he was not to be disturbed. He was angry and frustrated and aroused. It was an uncomfortable combination.

Draco gripped himself through his trousers. A cold shower was not going to solve this. He shrugged off his jacket. It was still slate grey, a testament to her skill at transfiguration. Her. Granger. Her, Hermione. He swore and unbuttoned his shirt to rid himself of it and cool his heated skin.

He could accept getting hard over a witch. He was a healthy male who had been abstinent longer than he cared to admit. But why did it have to be her? He could not have her and he wanted her badly.

There could be someone else but Draco had never liked buying companionship, not when pleasurable company had always been readily accessible. The days when he could snap his fingers and a willing witch would come running were over. He kicked off his shoes then crossed his sitting room into the bedroom. Bed large enough for four. Pillows for one.

If only she was a pure-blood witch. A half-blood would have been acceptable given her credentials. Draco told himself angrily not to think about it. Think of her as Weasley’s leftovers. That did not ease his erection for that thought was followed quickly by the imagined expression on Weasley’s cretinous face when he saw them together. Potter’s face had been a picture!

He was painfully hard. Draco dragged off his socks clumsily. Bending over was a challenge with his dick poking him in the stomach. There was nothing for it but a good stiff wank then a stiff Scotch. He stripped off his pants and boxers, stretching out on the counterpane to relax.

Closing his eyes, an image of Hermione floated easily to mind. He pictured her just after she had graduated. Before she married Weasley. He’d seen a photograph of her in the Prophet at the ceremony. Her hair had been braided and she had been on the stage alone giving a speech. Draco concentrated on her as he stroked himself slowly.

Too many clothes, Ms Granger. He stripped her down to lingerie, cognac silk to flatter her. She would not wear lace but he might get her into leather. Draco’s breath quickened at the possibilities. Her breasts had always been impressive and in his mind Draco had Hermione tease him by taking her brassiere off slowly. She looked at him coyly, stray curls escaping from her braid to frame her sweet face.

She bent over for him and shook her hips so her ass wiggled like it did when she walked. He put her in stockings and heels like a courtesan. No cheap thrill was his Hermione. She laughed as Draco imagined caressing the curve of her buttocks then spanking her because she was a naughty, naughty witch. He groaned.

Hermione slid her knickers off slowly, shimmying so he clenched with anticipation before tossing the damp silk away to stand before him with her legs open. Meeting his stare boldly because she knew what he wanted and wanted it too. Draco squeezed his balls as he pictured her straddling him. She’d be tight and wet for him.

Damn it, he was rigid. He gritted his teeth. His hips jerked upwards to stroke into her but she wasn’t there. Draco swore. Why did he want her? She was just some Mudblood slut. Weasley’d had her. And Greyback. What sort of things had the werewolf done to her to knock her up?

He didn’t want to imagine that. He could, far too easily. Draco would have pulled those memories from his head but in a Pensieve everyone could see what he had seen. He let go of his dick and smacked a fist against the bedding.

Fuck, he had made some bad choices; pushed into them by his father and by his own desire to be the best. Granger had tormented him at school getting top marks as though she had been born to it. Beating him like it was nothing. An image came to him of her under him flushed and gasping as he thrust hard between her legs. Draco groaned again as he felt himself stiffen back to full attention.

So, screw her and get over it. He conjured a little lubrication. Getting too good at that charm, old boy. Draco touched himself. Hermione writhing under him, her legs wrapped tight around his hips. Begging him to keep going. Begging him. Yes. That he would imagine. Her so hot she was pleading for him to take her.

He braced his feet against the duvet so he could lift his hips and get a good stroke. Yes, her breasts bouncing as he ploughed into her. Would she scream when she came? She would scream for him. Draco kept his eyes tight shut as he pictured himself teasing her, licking her nipples and making her moan. His balls tightened at the thought.

She’d scratch her nails down his back and gasp his name as she came. So wet for him. So ripe. Draco rubbed the head of his dick as he saw Hermione in his bed with a round stomach. Pregnant in silk. From their lust, an heir. She lifted her shirt for him, her eyes wicked as she put his hand on her belly like he had wanted to do when he had seen her asleep after their shopping trip.

But his children, no one else’s. His legacy, as brilliant and talented as a Malfoy should be. Only the best was good enough. Draco saw her crawling across the covers to kiss him, her curves as luscious as a Renoir nude. Her smile like the fall of angels.

He came hard, spurting into his hands and cursed like the Devil.


	2. the First Saturday in July

Draco knocked on her front door again. They had agreed on 10am, the earliest anyone was likely to see young Mr Malfoy dressed for company. He had suffered at school with the early starts and had reverted to more reasonable hours as soon as he had been released from his education. 10 am for brunch at a fashionable cafe where they would be seen. They had done the same last weekend and the weekend before. It was almost a date.

He had seen Granger write it down on that muggle gadget with initials. CBD? PDQ? Something like that. She was not the sort to forget or to stand someone up. Draco pushed down his annoyance. There could be something wrong. He glared at the door, covertly running his wand across the lock. The jolt up his arm confirmed the house was heavily warded. 

It abutted two others, squished together like dovecotes, so he could not duck around the side to try another door. Draco cast a concealment charm on himself and pulled off his left cufflink. It was shaped like a broomstick, which it rapidly became once he removed the transfiguration on it. He slung a leg over and floated up to look into the upper storey windows feeling like a Peeping Tom but unwilling to walk away.

The second window was Granger’s bedroom. The curtains were open so he could see her lying on her bed. She had her face buried in the pillow. Her hair curled like Medusa’s serpents over her bare shoulders, which were quivering. She wasn’t sleeping. He knocked on the window thinking she was doing one of two things. When she lifted her head and he saw the tears he knew she was crying. She gave him no greeting, just collapsing back onto her pillow.

Bugger. Draco felt awkward intruding. He was tempted just to leave her to get over it and if she had not looked up perhaps he would simply have left his card and departed. Hermione was not a weepy woman or high-strung like some of the pure-blood girls could be. Damn it, he had to do something. He could not get into the house past the wards.

Potter could, though. Golden Boy the Auror probably had a spare pass-ward. Draco spat a curse. He had no idea where Potter and the Weasley wench lived. That lack had never previously impeded him. He thought quickly. The Grangers would know, and he knew how to get to their house. Before he had a chance to second guess himself, Draco landed his broom and Apparated.

Suburbia was not improved by the bustle of the Sabbath Day. Draco found a discrete niche amongst some dustbins to return his broomstick to cufflink form and dismissed the concealment charm. He ran a hand through his hair then strode up the Granger’s driveway. Their vehicle was there suggesting they were in though he noticed several of the houses had two of the horseless carriages. How many people lived in these tiny houses if they needed two of the noisy automata?

He knocked on the door, heard a distant voice say ‘round the back’ and diverted down the side passage into the tiny yard. It was barely enough for a kitchen garden but again that seemed normal for Surrey. Mr and Mrs Granger were doing horticultural things. Martin stopped pushing the bladed contraption that looked like an accessory from the Inquisition and Louise got up from weeding a flowerbed.

“It may be nothing serious.” Draco opened the conversation without the usual civilities because of the identical expression of worry on their faces. Hermione was an only child, after all. He explained quickly, glossing over the peering in through her bedroom window. Mrs Granger pulled off her gloves and straw hat.

“I’ll get my address book.” She hurried into the house. Martin, still in two minds about the young man, debated asking why he had gone to his daughter’s house. It was not his business. Hermione would tell him if she thought it was important but his little girl had ‘not told’ them quite a lot.

“Harry does not like you.” Martin remarked. “I cannot say what I have heard on the rumour mill impresses me either.” There, he had said it. The young man’s face went all high class and snooty of nose though he tried to hide it. “Hermione thinks you are worth a second chance. I would treasure that because from what I’ve read she’s about the only one who does.”

Draco kept his peace until he got Potter’s address then made a cool farewell. He Apparated to Ottery St Catchpole as he knew where it was then tried for Exeter. He had been there only once before, coincidentally then also looking for Potter. Fortunately he was better success this time. Mrs Potter opened the door accompanied by one of her young so he had to explain twice.

But once Potter got the message, they were back to Surrey to pick up the Grangers then Apparating in tandem to Hermione’s home. Draco was seriously wondering whether it would have been easier to risk the wards and smash a window. He admitted reluctantly to himself that he would not have done this rigmarole if he did not think Hermione truly needed help.

Doing good deeds did not exactly shower one with praise. No wonder people avoided them. Potter opened the wards, Mrs Granger opened the door and they hustled inside leaving him to make tea. Draco had never felt more superfluous. When Potter and Mr Granger trooped downstairs with the news of why Hermione was upset there was nothing he could say.

Crucio could not have got him to confess his first thought had been ‘she should be so lucky’ when he heard she had felt the babies kick. Narcissa had miscarried twice before he was born and three times afterwards, and she was considered fortunate. Draco added brandy from a hipflask to the tea. No one protested.

No one asked him to leave either so he didn’t but was unsure why not.


	3. Cafe Conspiracy

Later, he and Hermione discussed the Plan. Draco had been rendered pensive at a comment from Mrs Granger about his mother. He had naturally told Narcissa about the Plan. She would need to keep the public image of acquiescence if not acceptance. But Louise had pointed out that Madam Malfoy would want grandchildren too. It was the ‘too’ that struck Draco as significant.

This illusion of domesticity would end but the lie would continue. And his wife and family would expect him to outdo the muggleborn or at least repeat ‘his’ virility. He would be cursing himself if he ever told an arranged marriage spouse about the Plan. She would hold it over his head as blackmail forever. He had not considered his own children, and that was a telling oversight.

He had been thinking with his dick but not in the usual sense. How far was he prepared to go? Hermione asked him that same question. He could either bow out soonish as they had anticipated or entangle himself for the duration. They needed to arrange their separation. Hermione outlined a strategy, straightforward and logical of course. She meant to deal with everything head on and the Devil take the hindmost. She was a modern woman.

But Draco found himself to be a traditional man. He had everything he wanted. It would not take much to ensure he kept it. He knew himself to be greedy and self-indulgent. He expected to get what he wanted.

He told Hermione he would let Narcissa know about the pacing of the ‘Resolution Phase’ as she called it. Now Madam Malfoy was back in the social milieu she would have a part to play. Draco took himself off to Stockholm.

The calm of Iceland had soothed his father and to further his recuperation Narcissa had booked herself and her somewhat amnesiac husband on a fjord cruise, which had just reached its final berth in Sweden. Draco found his mother in a cafe. Lucius was asleep in their hotel. He slept a great deal, mentally exhausted from the stress of the past years. He had always been volatile but this nadir looked to be long term.

Draco put to his mother his version of the resolution, which resembled Hermione’s only in a mirror. Narcissa sipped her latte and was silent for a long while.

“She is healthy?” Was all she asked finally.

“Entirely. The Healers were impressed with her stamina and assured me there would be no lingering damage.” Draco had not mentioned to Hermione his inquiries about her health. He knew what his mother was thinking. “In a year or two, easily.” He answered her unspoken question. “With a little persuasion.”

“You would have to marry her and she would have to take your name. None of this Draco Granger nonsense.” L’Oracle had not pleased her with that little titbit.

“Of course.” Draco assented easily. Narcissa’s eyes were sharp on him.

“Consider if this works and you have a passel of sons to your name, what will you say when her eldest does not inherit? She will not like that.” Narcissa had been reared with the expectation of carrying on her husband’s lineage. She had endured her father’s recriminations to her mother over the production of three daughters. Before her cousin Sirius’s birth there had been grave fears of the Black name dying out. Which of course, it had.

“They’re illegitimate. It is that simple.” Draco knew historically families on the Continent had legitimised heirs born out of wedlock when they had run out of spares but doing so in Britain was very difficult. The Ministry statues were quite different. Birth before marriage made a bastard even if the parents subsequently married.

“You must have a son.” There was a certain yearning in her voice that Draco interpreted as a legacy from her own efforts to fulfil her obligations.

“I’ll wait until she is enceinte before proposing.” He assured. “There is a Muggle procedure called an ultrasound. It can tell the sex of a baby as accurately as a charm. I’m sure she will have one done without any suggestion from me.”

“There are other women; pure bloods.” Narcissa was new to hiding her prejudices. The world was changing. She wanted her family to survive, which was why they talked of desperate measures. “Just because you want to bed her now does not mean your infatuation will last.”

“If it doesn’t, we’ve lost nothing. None of the old families are mentioning a marriage alliance yet and I’ll be damned if I’ll take Pansy back.” Draco was not a forgiving man.

Narcissa contemplated him, thinking how much he resembled his father in the good days before his obsessions had consumed him. She gave her son a nod then presented her cheek for a kiss.

Hermione Granger was not a pure-blood but she was the best and it would be a very suitable revenge on those who had snubbed them. Lucius would not like it but Lucius need not know the whole of it. She had been considering her husband’s health and the small estate near Berne that had been part of her dowry. Perhaps it was time to hand over the reins. Draco could manage this all very well.


End file.
